


mooncakes & oolong tea

by jarorrakunsenpaisan



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Baking, Coping, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Gardening, M/M, Orphanage Vibes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22667512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarorrakunsenpaisan/pseuds/jarorrakunsenpaisan
Summary: Mr. Zhao has the audacity to pat Sasuke’s head like a sad puppy, chuckling.“You did well last night. Your guest left very pleased, and donated a large sum of money. Your quota will soon be reached.”Sasuke turns his face away, lips in a straight line.Mr. Zhao breaks out into a laugh at that, hands on his scraggly hips as he turns to exit.“Feisty! I understand why you’re so popular.”Sasuke stares at the wall until Mr. Zhao has disappeared—until his eyes stop watering.—or: uchiha sasuke has been trapped in an illegal brothel for ten months as he attempts to pay back an endless debt. one night, a man arrives and offers to help him escape by buying him. when sasuke gives in, he’s taken to a mansion where five other prostitution survivors have started rebuilding themselves and their lives.
Relationships: Hoozuki Suigetsu & Uchiha Sasuke, Namikaze Minato/Uzumaki Kushina, Uchiha Sasuke & Everyone, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 30
Kudos: 117





	1. eyes

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings. panic attacks, forced sex, slavery, depression, death of family members, abandonment. (please be safe.)
> 
> this has been in my wips for a long while. it’s a beast of a piece, and i’m rather proud of it 
> 
> enjoy.

Sasuke has always taken things for granted. He hadn’t realised it when he’d had things, of course, but it didn’t change the fact. He never thanked his mother for making him breakfast in the morning, even if she nurtured and cared for him like no other; just expected his eggs and toast to be on a plate when he padded downstairs.

He never tried to forge a relationship with his father, or even make an attempt to understand him, even if he put a roof over the families’ head.

He never let his brother think that he loved him, even if Itachi had kept him above water at the worst of times.

Then they had died, leaving him alone. No relatives who cared enough to check on him. Nothing but a fortune and an empty house.

It was hardly surprising when he’d faded away, slowly but surely, soon gone enough to blend into the shadows. People stopped noticing him, friends stopped calling. No one cared enough to stick by a barely there teenager—who’d want to?

He hadn’t spent a single piece of the money he’d been left with. Instead, he let it sit untouched, left it to get old and meaningless.

And now he was here. Realising how much he’d taken for granted. Realising that the kind words of his mother, the warm house his father provided, the comfort and love his brother had given him—were gone forever now.

 _Now_ , he has himself for company, a cramped room to sleep in, and nothing to help him float.

Sasuke’s room is not dissimilar to a jail cell. It’s cold; and stays that way due to the barren cement walls. The door is metal and scrapes irritably on the ground, but it always alerts him when anyone is coming in, giving him a decent amount of time to cover himself. There are no windows. No desk or chair. Just his bed, rickety and lumpy and hard, and the yellow sheets that cover it.

He doesn’t have anything to his name—not even a pair of clothes.

The embarrassment of having to be seen naked in front of everyone had faded quickly enough. Everyone’s eyes were dark and glossy and absent anyways, like the living dead walking.

Sasuke used to think he’d never look like that. Now he does.

The only garments any of them ever get to wear is the lingerie that Mr. Zhao brings. But it’s always skimpy and uncomfortable, so Sasuke dreads putting it on.

Despite the coldness of his room and uncomfortableness of his bed, he still prefers it over the gallery.

His room is where he dreams of the sun on his skin, or the feeling of a butterfly flitting over his leg. His room is where he traces shapes on the rumpled sheets and pretends to sink away between them. His room is where he fantasizes about the world over and over, until it feels like he could just open his eyes and see the sky again.

But the gallery is where all the men gather, with their grabby hands and stale breath, and drink until their so unabashed that they rut against his leg. The gallery is where he’s forced to smile and pretend like he _wants_ to disappear into a side room with the old, fat excuses for people. The gallery is where he loses his innocence, over and over again, until he’s choking on tears and moans that are forced from his mouth.

And then, when it’s finished, and all the men have left, Sasuke gets a couple hundred dollars taken off his seemingly infinite quota. Then he’s tossed back into his room with a glass of water and a cold bowl of rice.

At least the rice isn’t moldy.

Suigetsu says that at the last place he was at, the rice they gave them was bad, and the water was filled with worms. He says they’d all get sick, but if they threw up in their rooms, the leader there would beat them.

“This place is nicer,” Suigetsu tells him, probably trying to make Sasuke feel better.

Nothing can do that now. Not when he’s been here—cold, hungry, abused, used—for months. He’s not even sure how long it’s been, just knows that his limbs won’t always move when he asks them too anymore. Just knows that his stomach is starting to puff up, just a little, because of the gas in his empty stomach. Just knows that he’s stuck here, and he’s never getting out.

The thoughts overwhelm him some nights. After a particularly rough customer. On those days, he downs the glass of water, eats as much rice as he can manage, and then cries silently and helplessly into his pillow. Silently, because Mr. Zhao doesn’t like the noise. Helplessly, because his room is a box of terror, his feet are freezing cold, and the worst part of it all? _There’s no one missing him._

He supposes that means the people who’d taken him had done their job correctly. They’d managed to kidnap a boy that wouldn’t be missed by anyone. Someone who was utterly and entirely alone.

Here, he isn’t alone, but it feels like it.

The only thing that helps him to keep his sanity is the hole in the wall that is directly covered by the side of his mattress.

Suigetsu is in the next room over, and they uncover the holes and talk in hushed whispers sometimes. (Most times. Any time they can.) Often they hold hands, because even if those terrible gang leaders and corrupted politicians touch them every single night, it’s different when it’s just the smooth, slender fingers of a fellow prisoner. The feel of Suigestu’s hand around his calms him to extents he hadn’t thought possible, so they make a habit of it.

Suigetsu is from China, but speaks good english, which is the only other language Sasuke knows. He says that he was tricked into coming here with the promise of money and stability. Instead, he’d been dragged by his hair to a terrible place in the east where he was beaten at the slightest turn of his tongue. But then someone had bought him, and now he was here, somewhere in the south, and liked it better.

Suigetsu always jokes that he’s happier here than he was in the world.

Sasuke doesn’t think he is.

He doesn’t think anyone here is. Most of them had had bad lives before they’d come here, but Sasuke doesn’t think anyone would say no to getting their lifes’ troubles back.

Not even him.

Here, life troubles turned into life threatening situations. Stress turned into suffocating panic.

Everything was different here.

“Are you awake?”

Sasuke hears Suigetsu’s voice through the hole, though it’s muffled by the mattress.

He _is_ awake, but he hadn’t planned on acknowledging his own existence any time soon.

Sasuke breathes shallow and raspy. His throat burns with the action of trying to clear his throat. His lungs have trouble moving.

“Yes.” His voice is croaky. He doesn’t open his eyes.

The mattress shifts a little. Sasuke grunts.

“Move your bed.” Suigetsu is grinning. Sasuke can hear it in his voice; can almost see the abnormally spikey teeth.

Why did Suigetsu have to be such an optimist? Why did he have to remain so happy and loud, even when they were stuck in this horrible place? His bright personality burns Sasuke’s skin, but he has learned how to bask in the heat.

Besides, he may be the only one who knows how much Suigetsu truly fears Mr. Zhao and the guests.

“Leave me alone, asshole,” Sasuke manages to bite back, even if his vocal cords are screaming at him to stay silent.

Speaking of assholes, his _aches_.

Suigetsu seems to understand why Sasuke is especially grumpy tonight, because he’s abruptly silent.

Good. Sasuke can dream the day away.

The mattress is suddenly jerked to the side, and Sasuke jumps up onto his forearms on instinct, clinging to the thin sheets and eyes widening.

Suigetsu stifles his laughs, probably into his pillow, and then a hand is reaching through the now uncovered hole. It grabs the first thing it finds, which just happens to be Sasuke’s kneecap.

Against his will, some of the tension in Sasuke’s bones seep away. He sighs, falling back down and curling in on himself facing the wall, allowing Suigetsu to pet over his leg.

“Bad night?”

“Hn.”

“Wanna hear about my night?”

In truth, Sasuke doesn’t, but he knows his extroverted friend(which he will never admit to thinking)will be butthurt if he doesn’t let him talk.

Suigetsu dives in, telling him of the man who regularly requests him. No one gives their names, but Suigetsu calls him Santa-san jokingly, since the guy is old, large, and has a rather large white beard. He also gets his nickname from the fact that he is a kinder guest. Suigetsu usually only comes back with bruises on his thighs and wrists.

Sasuke hates listening to the obscene details, but Suigetsu has no shame in telling him.

“He really knows how to make me moan, now, since he pretty much requests me every time he comes. Even brought me a gift!”

Sasuke opens his eyes again at that.

“Wh—“ His throat sputters like an engine, and he coughs violently. It burns like fire, and he reaches up to cover his Adam’s apple a little desperately.

After his fit, he settles for an inquisitive hum.

“Look,” Suigetsu says, and the hand on his calf retreats.

Sasuke looks down as something metal brushes over his legs.

Suigetsu is holding a bracelet. It’s silver and thin, and dangling down from it is a charm in the shape of a sword.

“He said it was his family's crest. Isn’t it pretty?” Suigetsu's voice is whispy and awed, which Sasuke can understand. No one gets gifts.

He forces himself to curl just a little further, and runs his fingertips over the cool metal. He brushes over the charm, taking in the half circle cut into it towards the bottom, the full circle cut out on the top, and the curved edge.

“‘S pretty,” He whispers.

Suigetsu chuckles as he withdraws it.

“Do you want to talk about your night?”

His voice is low but firm, a gentle nudge that’s close to a demand.

It almost reminds Sasuke of his mother.

He shuts his eyes tight, having to think hard about what had even happened last night. (He usually tries to forget as much as possible before his head even hits his pillow.)

Sasuke remembers a man who was a bit younger than most—maybe in his early thirties. He remembers almost immediately being pulled to the side by him; he was usually one of the first to be chosen anyway, since he was the most attractive out of any of the people here(that’s what Mr. Zhao says, anyways). Sasuke remembers the introduction part of it being quick. They were in a neon lit back room within the first thirty minutes, and then they’d…

“Came down my throat. Twice.” Sasuke is blunt with his words, just like Suigetsu is, because sugar coating it only causes him to spiral deeper into whatever void he’s falling into.

“Figured,” Is Suigetsu’s reply. “You sound like a frog.”

Sasuke kicks at the hole, and manages to brush against something, but not as hard as he’d wanted to.

A snicker follows.

“Then?”

He sighs.

“Then he fucked me against the wall. Hard.”

“Some energy this man had.”

Sasuke doesn’t reply. His throat feels like it’s bleeding.

“What time do you think it is?” Suigetsu ponders aloud, not really asking, just filling the silence. It’s a blessing for both of them, but neither mentions it. “I’ve definitely slept at least eight hours. I feel _su-u-uper_ rested.”

There’s a moment of pause where Sasuke gathers all of his strength to sit up and twist around, so that he can lie down with a good view of the hole.

Suigetsu is already lying there, hazy eyes and nearly invisible eyelashes blinking back at him.

“Hey,” He smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Sasuke doesn’t make any effort to say something back, or even to smile. Just rests his wrist inside the hole and lets his hand go limp as he closes his eyes.

“You’re going back to sleep? Lame.”

Suigetsu laces their fingers together either way.

  
  


—

  
  


The best part of their day, Sasuke and Suigetsu both agree, is when they shower. (Although it alludes to another night in the gallery, it does a lot to distract them from the fact.)

When Sasuke’s door begins to scratch against the cement ground—the sound like nails against a chalkboard—he jerks from his sleep and has about five seconds to pull his hand away from Suigetsu and get the mattress back in place so that it covers the hole.

“Get up,” Mr. Zhao says, making sure to meet Sasuke’s eyes as he stands in the doorway.

Mr. Zhao looks like such a stereotypical yakuza boss that it had seemed comical at first. He’s a tall, skinny, balding man, with only a few strands of hair that are always gelled down over his head. The crisp violet suit he wears attests to his wealth, especially when given the gold buttons and cufflinks. His face is oval and scrunched up in odd places, giving him the appearance of a weasel. He stares into the souls of everyone he owns with his beady black eyes, searching for any sign of disobedience.

Punishment is never physical, oddly enough. Usually it means no sheets for a week, or no rice for a few days, or often, for the ones who were particularly jumpy, taking on more than one guest at once.

Sasuke, though, isn’t too scared of the man. He’s favoured because of his popularity amongst the guests, and Mr. Zhao can’t ruin his prize dessert, can he?

What he _is_ scared of is the guards. The guards don’t protect anyone, they just make sure that no one escapes. They call everyone terrible things and get handsy constantly, threatening to kill the people they abuse if they tell Mr. Zhao. No one in the entire facility doubts their resolve, and subject themselves to the guards’ torments.

It’s to avoid death. Everything Sasuke does and everything _everyone_ here does is all to avoid death. It’s the only thing that keeps them going.

And right now, it’s the only thing that gets Sasuke to move his weak, tired legs.

He stands, and immediately begins to feel last night a lot more than he had when lying down. His head spins, his legs tremble like jelly, and every single one of his muscles creak and begin to ache, throbbing torturously.

Mr. Zhao has the audacity to pat Sasuke’s head like a sad puppy, chuckling.

“You did well last night. Your guest left very pleased, and donated a large sum of money.” He leans in close, and Sasuke has to stare hard at Mr. Zhao’s forehead in order to not flinch away. “Your quota will soon be reached.”

_Liar._

Sasuke turns his face away, lips in a straight line.

Mr. Zhao breaks out into a laugh at that, hands on his scraggly hips as he turns to exit.

“Feisty! I understand why you’re so popular.”

Sasuke stares at the wall until Mr. Zhao has disappeared—until his eyes stop watering.

The sounds of everyone beginning to file into the hallway echoes off the walls and takes him away from the feeling of Mr. Zhao’s breath over his face.

Sasuke takes a deep breath. Then he steps through the doorway.

Suigetsu is already in the roll call line along the wall with everyone else, whispering to Karin with obvious irritation on his features.

When Sasuke leans against the wall with his arms crossed, Karin turns to him.

“Tell him he’s being stupid.”

Suigetsu whirls around, huffing.

“Tell _her_ she’s overreacting!”

Sasuke doesn’t say anything. His throat still hurts, even though the pain has eased a little during his nap. Now he mostly just feels the tension in the back of his neck; the promise of a blistering migraine. It isn’t like Karin or Suigetsu take notice, anyways, too busy returning to their bickering.

He manages to hear something about a bracelet, and guesses that Karin thinks Suigetsu might get in trouble for accepting gifts. It would be a likely scenario if Suigetsu wasn’t a crowd favorite like Sasuke.

He mutes the sound of their words and instead turns his attention to the six other people who are lined up.

There’s Ino, the most popular of the ladies, with long hair that flows well past her bum and an annoying voice.

Shikamaru, who has grown more hatred towards this place than fear, and is always getting his meals taken away for attempting to escape. 

Tenten, who has a loud personality that often gets her into more trouble than anyone else.

Then Shino, who’s quiet and mysterious. No one knows much about him.

Konan has purple hair that Mr. Zhao allows her to continuously dye, but she’s very curt with anyone who attempts to make conversation.

Last is Sasori, who has pretty eyes and is mostly silent, but sometimes makes blunt comments.

Suigetsu is the only person that Sasuke can stand even remotely, except for maybe Konan and Shino, because they scarcely try to talk to him.

He hates Karin. But she’s always trying to draw him into a conversation.

“Quiet down!”

The head guard, Danzo, steps forward, stomping his boot down. Everyone becomes silent very suddenly, and flattens their backs against the freezing cold walls. All stop moving except for the minute nervous shifting that comes with being here. Most stop breathing.

Sasuke takes a deep breath and holds it.

His actions don’t stem from fear. He hates Danzo more than he hates Karin, more than he hates Mr. Zhao, more than he hates this _place_. But unlike with Mr. Zhao, any resistance against Danzo would be met with a harsh hand.

Danzo is a decently large, stone faced man. The rest of the guards are merciless, but it’s easy to tell that Danzo is different. He is hard where the guards are soft, unyielding where the guards were pliant. He was truly evil, and such evil causes Sasuke to hate him more than anything.

Danzo seems to hate him right back, always shoving him particularly harder than he shoves anyone else, or purposely spitting in Sasuke’s face when he speaks.

For all his ominous and threatening words, though, Danzo uses crutches to get around, and his arm is in a sling. Some freak accident, people whisper. The reason why he was here, at an illegal brothel in who knows where, working for Mr. Zhao.

Most of them think that Danzo used to be a yakuza boss, but stepped out of line and got himself hurt. That’s the other reason everyone is so scared of him: if anyone steps out of line, they could be dealing with the ruthless power of a previous yakuza leader.

Sometimes, in the moments where Danzo threatens to hit someone only to back down; where he leans in close only to breathe a huff of breath and retreat; the moments where he becomes something that wasn’t all he was cracked up to be—Sasuke dares to think that he could take him down with his willpower alone.

Other times, though, in disturbing moments where Danzo says something to Sasuke and they hold fiery eye contact, Sasuke sees the few aspects they share. Pride, arrogance, cold calculation.

It makes him shiver, just thinking about the fact that he could have anything in common with someone as disgusting as Danzo.

Eventually, Danzo makes sure that everyone is accounted for(and seethes in a few peoples faces about ‘respect’ or some other bullshit), and sends everyone into the shower room with a sharp motion of his arm.

No one speaks until they’re all in the room, with only the two guards standing lazily in the entryway. It isn’t like there’s any way to escape anyways, with the guards down the hall guarding any exits that lead outside, and Danzo probably still nearby. None of them have the guts.

“I’m surprised Danzo didn’t see your little gift,” Karin barks, slipping back into argument as the shower heads begin to spray against the cool tiled floor.

Suigetsu sticks his tongue out, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What the fuck ever, Karin,” He rubs his arms up and down. “It’s freezing in here.”

Sasuke agrees, but he doesn’t say anything to attest to that. Just watches as Ino grabs the single bar of soap and rubs the suds into her skin before passing it down the line. That’s how the showers work here: there’s a spout for everyone, but only one bar of soap and one bottle of shampoo to get them through the week. Populars get first dibs, since clientele would go down if their top choices came to them dirty.

Populars include Sasuke, Ino, Suigetsu, and Karin. In that order. Everyone else is first come, first serve as to who gets a fair amount of soap.

Sasuke scrubs himself with cupped palms, gentle but hurried, as Mr. Zhao doesn’t give them long.

Most of them talk in hushed voices about dreams they’d had, or things they’d imagined while unable to sleep. Some are quiet and stare blankly at the wall.

Sasuke just closes his eyes and makes himself slip into his shell. It’s a significant part of his routine: when he steps foot into the gallery, he isn't Sasuke anymore. He becomes _Moonstone_ , the name Mr. Zhao had given him. Being here and _doing_ this disgusts him to no end, but Moonstone doesn’t mind. Moonstone is just a soulless vessel to be used by whomever is deemed worthy.

It helps a little, when he dissociates himself from these things he has to do every night. Then he can come back to his room and pretend he’s waking up from a terrible nightmare, and that things will get better if he just closes his eyes and dreams his world away.

It’s all he can really do.

When the shower spouts shut off, they each towel off quickly and file back in front of the cement wall.

Mr. Zhao waits there with the lingerie container. Sometimes he has new things, but Sasuke doesn’t see anything unusual in the tub, so he assumes he’ll get the same outfit as always.

“We have a few different customers today, everyone,” Mr. Zhao begins handing out sets; purple for Ino, green for Shikamaru, pink for Tenten, white for Suigetsu, mauve for Karin, grey for Shino, black for Konan, red for Sasori, and blue for Sasuke. “Be on your best behaviour, and show these men how to have a good time, eh?”

Everyone dresses silently.

Sasuke isn’t seeing anymore, not really. He’s in a trance. It’s like he’s watching himself from outside his body. His hands don’t feel like his own.

They follow Mr. Zhao down the hallway towards the entrance to the gallery once everyone is ready, their bare feet scuffing on the hard ground.

The first thing Sasuke smells is the booze. Then he takes in the neon lights, and the booming of the music, and the buzz of laughter from rich old men.

“Here they are, boys! Sorry to keep you waiting.”

They line up again, faces down and hands folded to appear malleable and powerless(which they are).

“Everyone, I’d like you to meet our most honoured guest this evening,” Sasuke peeks through his eyelashes as Mr. Zhao puts an arm around a man that he's never seen before. He’s younger than most of their usuals—by a lot. “This is Namikaze Minato.”

They bow in harmony, all muttering some form of welcome.

“So who do you recommend?” Minato has a deep, young voice. It would be soothing if Sasuke didn’t know he was a monster who probably murdered people for fun.

“Depends on your preference, my friend. Moonstone is the best of the males, and Amethyst is the best of the females. But if you’re looking for a more specific type—“

“I think I’ll just try out—what was it? Moonstone?”

Sasuke steps out from the group and approaches, his eyes on his pale feet.

“Moony will show you a great time. You can sit here or take him directly to a back room—they all have furniture!”

“Thank you, Zhao. I’m sure I won’t regret coming.” Minato smiles at Mr. Zhao before wrapping an arm around Sasuke’s waist and tugging him down the lighted hall to the furthest room on the right.

Sasuke takes a deep, inaudible breath. New customer, so there was no way of knowing his temperament. He tries to prepare himself for the worst in hopes of the best.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Minato’s arm drops, and he takes a few steps back. He turns the actual lights on, the neon ones flickering off.

Sasuke is almost shocked out of his trance; most—no, _all_ customers like the lights off. Most aren’t actually gay, so they try to keep their masculinity by not seeing what their doing.

But he supposes this isn’t so unusual. There had to be more closet gays then he thinks, right?

“Hey,” Minato says, and his voice isn’t the same as it was out in the gallery. “This is going to sound a little strange, but I have a proposition for you.”

Sasuke doesn’t move. He hasn’t been told to.

“Look at me.”

He does.

Minato wears a desperate kind of face, with his eyebrows scrunched together and his face drawn into a fine line.

“I’m not here to—to _use_ you. I want to save you.”

Sasuke feels his head spin, and his jaw drops involuntarily with an audible smack.

“Look, if we do this, you can’t tell any of the other prisoners. I know it’s hard to do, leaving these people behind. But if you want it, I can help you get out of here.”

Sasuke doesn’t know what to say. Should he even speak? Is he allowed to?

_Moonstone_ isn’t. So _he_ isn’t. Right?

Minato seems to catch onto this and sighs. He doesn’t seem angry though. He sighs with the sort of stalled patience that comes with doing things a thousand times. Sasuke knows the feeling.

“You can speak. You can do whatever you want. I’m not here to control you.”

He swallows once, and licks his lips. Takes a small step back.

“S-Save me?”

Minato’s eyes soften.

“Yes. It’s what I do. I come to brothels and try to save people. I can’t do it often, or people will catch on, and I have to be as random as possible. I chose you because you're the first one that Zhao recommended. No other reason.”

Sasuke nods slowly, eyes boring into Minato’s. He doesn’t understand, but he’s supposed to just go along with whatever the customer wants.

“You…”

“Yes. I can’t promise to buy you right away, but—“

_Buy me_.

_Oh._

Everything snaps together in Sasuke’s head. _That_ makes far more sense than whatever Minato had been saying before. He wants to buy Sasuke for himself. To use him as a personal slave.

They’ve had a few people leave for this reason. They’d always been terrified to go.

Sasuke feels this terror strike through him at the very moment he realises.

“I don’t,” He clears his throat. “I don’t want to be bought.”

Minato’s eyes scrunch again.

“What?”

“I don’t want to...for you. Using me here is better than...at your home.” He feels so stupid and ashamed. He doesn’t know why.

Minato frowns, head sagging to the side.

“I’m not going to buy you for personal use, Moon—hey, what’s your real name?”

That is the exact moment Sasuke stops being Moonstone. He feels a chill crawl up his spine.

Customers don’t _ask_ for names. They don’t make conversation. _They don’t turn off the lights._

Sasuke presses his back to the wall, looking back down at the carpet and exhaling slowly.

“Moonstone.”

“No, I mean your real name.”

Sasuke hasn’t said his real name out loud if so long. Not even Suigetsu says it often. It’s usually just _hey_ this and _hello there_ that. Never names. Never titles. He hasn’t been called anything other than Moonstone for a very, very long time.

His breath starts to speed up, and something tightens around his throat. He slides down the wall and curves into himself.

“Moonstone—hey, hey, calm down. Breathe slower. Breathe.” Minato crouches down in front of Sasuke, but he doesn’t pay any attention to him.

He doesn’t know what this is. He feels raw and shameful and trapped, and he hates everything about tonight.

After a moment, he recognises the lights turning off, and the pulsing of the fluorescent lights return.

“Breathe with the lights, Moonstone.” Minato’s voice, breaking through the muck and panic and anger.

Sasuke inhales unevenly, and it burns his throat. He exhales and repeats.

It takes a lot of stuttering breaths, but he calms down after a few minutes. His vision clears.

Minato is sitting across from him, breathing pointedly slow. He’s a safe distance away, like he knows Sasuke needs space.

Why is he so considerate? It confuses Sasuke so much.

“You back?”

Sasuke nods, because he doesn’t think he has the strength to speak right now.

“Okay. Listen, please be calm. I’m not tricking you, and I know that’s hard to understand when you probably haven’t been around truthful people the entire time you’ve been here, but I really do just want to get you out of here.”

Sasuke listens and breathes, eyes never leaving the man before him.

“I'm a yakuza boss, yes, but I’ve tried to lay low ever since I had my kid. My wife and I started saving prostitutes from illegal brothels across the world. We have a bit of an orphanage going, now, since most people choose not to leave.” Minato chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sasuke understands the words, but they don’t quite register.

“If you let me get you out of here, you can do whatever you want. You can leave. I can send you wherever you want to go. You could ask for a million dollars and leave on your own. Or you could stay with us. It’s all up to you.”

_Too good to be true_ , Sasuke thinks.

“I’m not lying, I promise.”

Like he knows what Sasuke is thinking. Like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Sasuke doesn’t know what to do at all.

“How about this,” Minato says, because he’s probably sensing that Sasuke doesn’t believe a word that leaves his mouth. “I will come back on Thursday. During the next day or two, you can decide whether to accept my offer or stay here. I’d give you more time, but I’d rather not keep coming back,” Minato chuckles. “I really want to save you, Moonstone, but I won’t unless you want me to.”

Sasuke doesn’t respond. He just stares. He feels like he could pass out.

“Now we just have to wait for an hour or so,” Minato says with a smile. “Can’t have them getting suspicious.”

So they sit there in silence for time that stretches for eons. Sasuke wants to sleep, but he forces himself to keep a dutiful watch over Minato, lest the man change his mind and give into the primal way of most men.

He can’t think about a decision or even a question to ask through the haze in his mind. He’s never had that kind of breakdown before. Sure, he’s cried a lot, but never has he trembled that way and felt so panicked.

Eventually, time passes, and Minato stands. He helps Sasuke up, and sighs again.

“I’ll see you Thursday, Moonstone. Maybe next visit you’ll share your name with me?”

No answer.

Minato opens the door and saunters out with all the confidence of a man who just got laid.

Like he’s faked it a thousand times before.

Sasuke watches with hazy eyes, and feels something click in his mind.

He’s an Uchiha, which means he’s good at analyzing people. He’s good at figuring out motives. He’s the best at finding the truth, even if it’s buried under many layers of charm.

And even if he hates to admit it, he knows that Minato wasn’t lying tonight. That doesn’t mean he won’t lie in the future, or that this whole thing is a sham, but tonight, he hadn’t had a lick of false intent.

Sasuke isn’t sure if this reassures or terrifies him.

Either way, he exits the room with a fake limp, because even if he feels like shit, he isn’t stupid.

_See you next week, asshole._

He doesn’t know why he’s angry.

—

The next day is similar to the previous one. Except Minato isn’t there to give him rest, and he’s chosen by a dissimilarly charming guest.

That night, when he returns to his cold, empty room, he sticks his hand through the hole as soon as he lies down, and Suigetsu grabs it within seconds. They fall asleep that way, facing each other and gripping on for dear life.

Sasuke should tell him. He tells Suigetsu everything, even when there isn’t much to tell.

But this entire situation feels like sin.

For a few moments, as he drifts to sleep, he imagines it. Imagines how it would feel to be free from this place.

He could get a job flipping burgers or brewing coffee. He could own a small apartment and sleep on a comfy bed under warm covers. He could shop—buy clothes and furniture and stupid trendy foods that cost too much. He could go to the movies, or watch terrible Saturday night TV, and eat tomatoes. He could go outside and feel the wind through his hair; the sun on his skin.

The thoughts turn cold when he remembers he can’t bring anyone with him.

It’s an impossibly possible decision to make. There isn’t really an option. Sasuke can stay here and die or take his shot at freedom.

Sasuke takes a deep breath. Holds it in. Keeps the air inside until his lungs sting and his mind blurs. Then he releases.

Tomorrow is his last day here. He will leave this place, even if the guilt stays with him for the rest of his life.

“Suigetsu.”

No answer. Fair enough. It’s been a while since they’d lied down.

“Suigetsu.”

A shuffle. A hum of acknowledgement.

“I need to tell you something.” Sasuke pauses until Suigetsu opens his eyes and stares with bleary attention. “The man who...used me yesterday?”

Suigetsu nods with a yawn.

“You can’t tell anyone. But he offered to save me.”

Suigetsu seems to fully wake up at this, eyes widening.

“Buy you? Sasuke—“

“Not in the way you think. He says he saves people. That he’ll give me whatever I want and then let me leave.”

Just from the look on his face, Sasuke doesn’t know if he can truly convince Suigetsu. He can barely convince himself.

“I...so he’s giving you a choice?”

“Hn.”

“And you want to go?”

Sasuke hesitates.

“Hn.”

He really hates how optimistic his friend is.

Because when Suigetsu smiles with his blinding white teeth, eyes scrunching together, palm giving a squeeze, it makes it a thousand times harder to breathe.

“Tomorrow’s your last day, then. I’ll give you my rice,” He pats Sasuke’s hand. “As celebration.”

Sasuke hates the sting behind his eyes. Loathes the way his guts squirm around, squeezing him. Detests the living _guilt_ inside him that’s like fire.

His eyes burn.

“I’m happy for you.”

Sasuke can’t meet Suigetsu’s eyes.

—

Wednesday, his last day in this terrible, awful place, is spent whispering back and forth with Suigetsu. He seems urgent to share everything he hasn’t already, using every silent moment to tell Sasuke of his old life, of things he’s learned, of things he misses. Things Sasuke knows he wouldn’t have bothered to share previously, since Sasuke isn’t known to care much.

He cares more than he ever has right now.

“When I was younger...probably around eight or nine, I remember celebrating the Mid-Autumn Festival. That’s one of the most important celebrations of the Chinese year, you know.”

“Hn.” Sasuke does know. He knows a lot of other cultures from the days when his parents bought him expensive, almost positively useless education. Languages and cultures and ancient riddles.

“There was one lady that most of the kids loved the most at the orphanage. I think her name was Yua? Anyways, every year she would make us mooncakes.”

“Mooncakes.”

Suigetsu chuckles, but the sound is hollowed out by the obvious wonder in his voice from recalling simpler times. He’s not focused on Sasuke right now.

“They were these small pastries with an emblem of sorts on the top. Sometimes flowers, or geometric patterns. Yua usually made them with lotus seed paste, but I’ve tried the red bean ones. Those were good. She’d make so many that everyone could eat at least three, and then she’d tell us stories and make us laugh. We’d drink water and pretend it was the fine teas from the shop down the block, and reenact the tales she told us.”

Sasuke looks at Suigetsu.

He’s not looking back. He’s miles away, eyes glazed and mind wandering. Remembering the past.

“That sounds nice.”

“It _was_.” And he sounds like he could cry.

Sasuke squeezes his hand tighter.

“When I’m…” He can’t say it out loud. “I’ll try making mooncakes.”

Suigetsu finally meets his eyes, gaze focusing. He smiles softly, cheeks damp.

“Moonstone making mooncakes in the moonlight.”

“Bet you can’t say that five times fast.”

He can’t. But he tries.

Their dinner arrives, and Suigetsu gives him a portion of his own bowl.

Sasuke accepts mostly out of guilt.

They eat and Suigetsu tells him a few Chinese fables. They’re interesting and make Sasuke feel like he’s in a different world.

“What about you?”

It’s almost time to shower. They can tell by the way the air gets colder. Evening is falling upon their dungeons.

“What.”

Suigetsu huffs.

“You. Your story. You’ve never told me.”

Sasuke swallows, nibbling the inside of his lip.

His story...his family, his past.

“Well...I grew up in Japan. In Tokyo. My family was rich and privileged, but I hated the way things were. It was boring. So I spent most of my time away from my family. Then, one day, they,” He purses his lips. “They, uh, died. In a plane crash.”

“Oh,” Suigetsu says gently, rubbing a thumb over Sasuke’s wrist in condolence. “‘M sorry.”

“No,” Sasuke says, a reflex. So many people say sorry. “It’s just the way life is to people like me.”

Suigetsu tilts his head to the side.

“People like you? What do you—?”

Suddenly, the door in Suigetsu’s cell flies open. His door isn’t like Sasuke’s—it’s not heavy and metal—it’s wooden and almost quiet.

Suigetsu tries to move the mattress back in time, but Danzo must have already suspected something was going on.

Sasuke can’t help the small gasp that escapes him when he sees Danzo’s harsh face. He looks furious.

“Why haven’t either of you told anyone about this hole in the wall?” He limps closer to Suigetsu’s bed, lips turned downward.

Suigetsu is sitting ramrod straight, and his shoulders are trembling.

“We—I—“

Sasuke wishes he could go over there and do something—he _feels_ what’s about to happen and—

“You know these things aren’t allowed, Opal. That’s why you know you need to be punished.”

_Shit—_

Sasuke can’t tear his gaze away, but he wants to so badly.

Suigetsu is dragged off his bed and pushed onto the floor so that all Sasuke can see is Danzo’s crutch as it hits, drawn up and striked down like a blade. He can hear Suigetsu’s small cries, and see the ruthlessness in Danzo’s blank face.

They’re all so _weak_ here. They can’t do anything to fight back. They’re starved and skinny and helpless.

And for fuck’s sake, Sasuke used to do taikwando. He used to be two hundred and six pounds of pure muscle. He used to be able to intimidate men with a single glare, and _now_ look at him. He’s pathetic. He can’t help his only friend, and he’s about to leave him _forever._

When Danzo is finished, he totters out of the cell with a proud look on his face.

The blood inside Sasuke is searing hot.

At that moment, his door scratches open, and Mr. Zhao opens his mouth to tell Sasuke to get up—

Sasuke hauls himself up—his tired, weak, aching self—and pushes past Mr. Zhao. He catches sight of Danzo turning the corner and runs towards him, and he’s not Moonstone, not Sasuke.

Whoever he is right now doesn’t care about consequences.

He full on tackles Danzo, and they fall to the ground. Sasuke feels pressure relieve in his chest, and he realises he’s screaming. He punches with all his might at Danzo’s face, arms, neck. He scratches and hits and bites.

Has the time here made him insane? Even if he was filled to the brim with other people’s bullshit, before Sasuke was here, he could keep his cool. He didn’t lose control unless he _wanted_ to.

Well. Maybe he was just tired of playing nice.

At some point, someone pulls him off of Danzo. He isn’t sure if he fights back at all, just knows that when he feels like himself again he’s leaning against the roll call wall. Suigetsu is in front of him. He whispering.

“—crazy, I can’t believe you.”

The other prisoners are lined up, but they’re all staring down.

Suigetsu has a wet cloth in his hand, and is rubbing it against Sasuke’s cheek. It burns.

Suigetsu has open wounds on his face and arms. Scratches and red spots that were sure to turn into bruises.

“Did you break anything?” Sasuke asks.

Suigetsu rolls his eyes and exhales sharply, rubbing harder.

“No, I’m fucking fine. You’re the one who’s in trouble now, idiot.”

He stands abruptly, holding out a hand and lugging Sasuke to his feet. They both lean against the wall and on each other.

As they stand, Sasuke eyes Danzo in the corner at the end of the hallway. He’s holding a cloth to his nose and glaring with all the inferno of hell at Sasuke.

He has to hide his smirk.

Mr. Zhao approaches Sasuke with a grim face.

“Moonstone, you’re a goddamn lucky tramp.”

This is not what anyone is expecting him to say.

“I’ve just been offered a deal I can’t refuse. A sum of money in return for you,” Mr. Zhao takes a step closer, sneering with his thin, tormented face. “But he did have a condition. I had to _ask you_ if you want to go. Do you?” 

He says it with all the disgust Sasuke feels pooling in his gut.

He nods anyways.

“Consider your debts to me repaid,” Me. Zhao drawls. “I hope I never see your ugly face again.”

Sasuke turns to face Suigetsu just as Mr. Zhao grabs his arm to haul him away.

His heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest all of a sudden, the pride at showing Danzo who’s boss fading like quicksand.

He’s panicking. He’s slipping. It’s all hitting him at once. He’s _abandoning_ Suigetsu here, probably to die.

He’s doing what his family did to him.

Suigetsu reaches out, sliding something cold into Sasuke’s palm and giving it a final squeeze.

_Bye,_ He mouths, lips upturned.

Sasuke doesn’t look away until the door to the gallery is closed behind him.

The last image of Suigetsu he will ever witness is of him turning away into his palm with a pained expression, probably thinking Sasuke couldn’t see him anymore.

He could.

He grips the charm in his palm tighter.


	2. mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So they’re in Japan, after all. Sasuke wonders how close Minato’s house is to Tokyo. How coincidental it is that his saviour just happens to be from his home country.

Sasuke is in the back of a car. 

When Minato had picked him up, Sasuke was sure he was going to be gagged and tossed in a trunk or something. Instead, he’d been calmly placed in the back seat and told to sit quietly. 

He doesn’t know where they are going and it’s too dark to watch the scenery, so he might as well be blindfolded. 

Minato is sitting in the front seat, but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps his eyes on the road. 

Sasuke rubs his thumb over Suigetsu's sword charm. It gives him a shaky mix of comfort and anxiety. 

For all he’s hated that terrible place, he’s more scared than anything now that he’s finally out. 

He wonders how Suigetsu feels. 

“It’s about a three hour drive.” 

Minato finally speaks. He glances at Sasuke from the rearview mirror. 

Sasuke meets his gaze, but he doesn’t say anything back. 

He  _ wants  _ to, he finds, but when he goes to speak, his throat doesn’t move. The only thing he can push out in a small puff of breath. 

“Would you want to share your name, now?” 

Might as well. 

“S—“ 

Something is definitely wrong. He knows he’s not injured. But for some reason, trying to force words feels grating and disturbing. 

“Sasuke.” But he gets the syllables out, albeit a bit rough. 

“Sasuke...nice to meet you. That’s Japanese, huh?” There’s a smile in Minato’s voice. 

Sasuke nods. 

When Minato speaks next, it's in Japanese. 

“You can sleep if you want. Like I said, it’ll be a while.” Then, almost absentmindedly: “How about some music?” He reaches out and turns the volume button, and suddenly a pop song is playing softly. 

The words sound smooth, and Sasuke almost tears up. He hadn’t heard his language in...

So they’re in Japan, after all. Sasuke wonders how close Minato’s house is to Tokyo. How coincidental it is that his saviour just happens to be from his home country. 

Sasuke lies down, but he doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t think he could sleep, anyways, even if he wanted to. 

The song on the radio...he doesn’t recognise it, but the voices sound familiar. It’s definitely some lame pop song that Sasuke would never listen to. 

Back when Itachi was still around, he would blast music from his room if their parents weren’t home. It was always some cringe-worthy piece: anime openings or cheesy love songs. It wouldn’t be so terrible if Sasuke knew it was a joke, but Itachi actually listened to some of those songs. He would show Sasuke his screen on their way home from the grocery store, his earbuds plugged in. 

Sasuke hates this kind of music. 

He stares at the radio and listens to the pulse of blood in his ears and the beat of the bass in the song. 

He drifts. 

—

It’s warm around him, almost hot. That’s the first thing he notices. Then he smells honey, and then he hears the tinkling of glass on glass. 

Sasuke opens his eyes. 

“I'm glad you’re awake. The tea was going cold.” The voice is soft and sweet. It almost reminds him of his mother. 

He opens his eyes and rubs the sleep from them, breathing in his surroundings. 

The room he’s in has the sort of vintage charm that Sasuke has come to expect from rich people’s homes(or at least from the ones he’s been to.) The walls are a creamy white, and the entire room has matching decor. There are two doors, one to exit, and one that probably leads to a decent sized bathroom. He’s underneath a thick comforter on one of the comfiest beds he’s ever laid on. The sun— _ the sun _ —shines over the bed. He traces the shadows with his fingers. There are thin curtains embroidered with golden floral patterns. There’s a balcony with glass french doors and two small, seemingly useless tables with flower vases on them. 

Sasuke sits up. Yes, he knows from the useless tables that he’s in a disgustingly wealthy household.

The woman to his right has a shock of long red hair and wears a simple green dress. She’s already prepared a small tray with a cup of tea and a bowl of porridge, from what Sasuke can see. The china complements the gold decorum. 

“Good morning, Sasuke,” The woman grins. “I’ve got some breakfast for you. It’s pretty minimal, but you’ll have to start slow with the food intake, you know, since you’ve probably been eating nothing but stale rice for months,” She stands and lifts the tray, placing it over Sasuke’s lap and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Her lips are curled. “Well go on, eat.” 

Sasuke pauses, smacking his dry lips together. 

_ If this is poisoned, at least I’ll die in a warm room. In a nice bed. With matching dishware.  _

The first sip of the tea is euphoric. It’s been  _ so long _ . It’s sweet with just a small undertone of bitterness, and soothes his throat. He thinks it’s oolong. The porridge almost makes him moan. How long has it been since he’s eaten hot food? Months. It feels like years; centuries. 

The woman seems pleased as Sasuke digs in with fervor, keeping his eyes on her hands out of precaution. 

“I’m Kushina, by the way, sorry for not introducing myself right away. I’m Minato’s wife.” 

_ Makes sense.  _

“You’re not much of a talker, eh? Minato mentioned that. Some of the other people here have trouble talking at first, too. Some don’t really get over it. It’s all fine and good, as long as you’re happy, you know?” 

Sasuke looks up at Kushina, raising an eyebrow. 

She chuckles. 

“Don’t worry. I hope you’ll like it here and decide to stay. Once you finish breakfast, you can bathe, you know. After that, there are a few things you could do. You could have a tour of the grounds, or meet the others, or just stay here and think. Um, Gaara just wanted a laptop when he first got here, to catch up on news,” Kushina pauses in her ramble, tapping her chin rhythmically. “If you have family to contact, we could do that as well. Either way, we can find something for you to do until you feel comfortable enough to either decide what to do or start activities!” 

Sasuke sends her another quizzical glance. (She hardly needs it to keep going.) 

“If you decide to leave, we can pay for your ticket home. Or give you some money so you can start on your own...if you’re old enough. How old are you?” She looks at him. 

Sasuke was eighteen when he was taken. Has his birthday passed? 

“Today is June 18, in case you were wondering.” 

Like she’s been through this a thousand times. 

Sasuke grits his teeth, trying to speak. Such an easy thing, and yet, as he pushes, he finds that he can’t utter a word. 

He sighs irritably and puts down his spoon. Then he holds up his hands, outspread.  _ Ten.  _ Then he puts down three fingers.  _ Eight.  _

“...Eighteen?” Kushina chuckles lightly, surprise pulsing in her eyes. “You’re eighteen.” 

Sasuke nods. 

Kushina had mentioned that the others had been quiet at first too. Maybe it was just the trauma? Sasuke almost laughs. He can’t speak because he’s been told not to for so long. It’s cynically comical. 

“Well, then I suppose it would be fine to set you loose,” She hurried on without much reaction. “But you could always stay here with us! There’s plenty of room, and we can afford any hobbies you might want to pick up, you can visit other places...but it’s all up to you, you know?” 

Sasuke finishes his porridge and Kushina collects the tray. She brings the little plate with the leftover tea with her as she leads Sasuke to the bathroom, where the tub is already filled. She places the cup on the side table. 

“Go ahead and bathe, sweetie. I have a pair of spare clothes right there on the counter, and there are extra towels over here,” Kushina places her hands on her hips and smiles at him. “Take your time, okay? No rush. If you need anything at all, just use the phone. Dial 102, and I’ll pick up.” 

Sasuke watches her close the door behind her and then realises with a start that he’s still naked. He hadn’t even noticed. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s actually noted in his head that he was naked for quite some time. 

The clothes(a simple combination of shorts, a t-shirt, and a hoodie)on the counter are definitely too big for him. (He thinks if he were at his normal weight, they would fit pretty well.) 

Sasuke stands in front of the mirror, still looking down at the clothes. It’s been...however long he’d been there since he’s seen his reflection. 

This feeling of unrelenting anxiety is starting to become a constant thing. With each new experience he 

re-experiences, he’s remembering more about life, and the way it goes. 

He looks up and feels something crawl up his throat. His cheeks are hollow and sharp, and he’s pretty sure his chin could slice butter. 

He looks like a skeleton. A shadow of his former self. He doesn’t look like Sasuke. 

After a brief breather and a 360 turn or two, he slips into the water easily enough. It’s on the hotter side of warm, but he likes it that way. There are a wide range of soaps on the opposite side of the tub, but he just breathes it in and soaks for a while, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. 

When’s the last time he had a bath? He’d always been a shower person, even when he was younger. It’s been years, at least. 

The water is nice. It envelops him, a comforting weight on his pale shoulders. 

He hasn’t felt this safe in forever. Sure, he probably wasn’t the most comfortable in this strange house with a bunch of strangers, but his gut tells him that he won’t get hurt while in their care. He doesn’t have to be scared of cold food, or harsh words, or grabby hands. He doesn’t have to worry about life and death. He can just soak in a bathtub with expensive salts. 

Sasuke feels tears in his eyes, and they slip down into the water like tiny raindrops. He cups his eyes and let’s the grief wash over him, allowing himself to be weak for just a few moments. Not like he hasn’t been forced into weakness for however long, forced to kneel, forced to grovel. 

He’s free now. And no matter how comfortable he may feel here, he has to remember that. He is  _ free _ , and therefore can do whatever he wants. 

He doesn’t know why he feels like he needs to remind himself of this, but it grounds him either way. 

Sasuke picks up the first shampoo bottle he sees and begins washing. 

—

Later that day, after electing to stay in his room, he picks up the phone and presses it to his ear, the cool curve of the metal a welcome sense. 

He had spent most of his day out on the balcony, lying on the warm cement with his hoodie off. 

The sun is different than he remembers it. Less searing and more soft. He doesn’t stare directly at it, but he watches the shadow of his hand on the balcony. He doesn’t remember ever loving the sun’s warmth on him before now; before he’d grown to miss it. 

Now, with hunger and a probably weird tan line, he picks up the phone and dials 102. 

Kushina picks up within a few rings. 

“Hi, Sasuke. Do you need something?” 

Sasuke hadn’t thought this through. When he tries to speak, nothing comes out. He feels stupid. 

Kushina suddenly bursts into chuckles, and then clears her throat as if restraining herself. 

“Right, I forgot. I’ll come upstairs, okay?” Then she hangs up. 

Sasuke pulls the sweatshirt back over his head as he waits, a sort of security coming with its oversized softness. 

Everything in the world is so much nicer than he remembers it being. 

When Kushina comes in, she’s smiling.  _ She’s very pretty _ , Sasuke notes randomly. 

“I’m guessing you’re hungry?” 

Sasuke nods. 

“I could bring up some food, of course, or,” She shrugs, bringing her hands before her and stringing then together. “You could come down and have dinner with the rest of us?” 

Sasuke goes to shake his head no, but something very odd and very Uchiha tells him that he should scope out his company(even if he feels like he might collapse into a heap of pathetic meltdowns any second now). 

He nods slowly, gripping the bottom of his hoodie sleeve. 

Kushina brightens at this. 

“Oh, yay! I really thought you were going to say no, you know, but just wait here. I’ll go get Naruto. He’s a good person to start w—“

She closes the door before she can finish her sentence, leaving Sasuke in silence again. 

He spends the few minutes rubbing circles in the bed sheets and taking in the room over and over again. Noticing the shine of the wood, the texture of the carpet, how the flowers are starting to wilt. 

When the door opens, Kushina isn’t there. Instead, there’s a boy around his age with golden hair, big blue eyes, and strange scars on his cheeks. 

He’s also grinning very, very, impossibly wide. 

“Hey!” He waves, wriggling his fingers. “I’m Naruto, the son of that guy who picked you up and the woman who’s been taking care of you. I heard you don’t talk, but mom told me your name is Sasuke. Nice to meet you, you know!” Naruto comes over and stretches out a hand, still grinning. 

Sasuke feels his mouth go dry and swallows hard. 

Jesus fuck, the old him would have told this guy to fuck of, he was annoying and  _ so bright, what the fuck— _

The new him, however, tentatively shakes Naruto’s hand. 

“So, before dinner, I thought I could show you around the house a little. You down with that?” 

Sasuke nods, standing as Naruto begins to exit the room. 

The outside hallway is long and lined with paintings and tables. (Useless tables.) It has the same style of bright victorian decor, and at the top of the stairs is a crystal chandelier. It sparkles like stars—and the thought of stars makes his eyes damp. He wipes at them before Naruto turns around. 

“These two hallways lead to Kiba and Hinata’s rooms. They’re down at the dinner table right now.” 

Sasuke just keeps his eyes forward. 

“We’re having fish tonight. For dessert, mom said she’s making strawberry cake. Do you like sweets?” Naruto turns back to face him, smile still on his face. 

He shakes his head, trying not to look as meek and intimidated as he feels. Back in the day, he could have easily taken down anyone in this house. Now, he’d probably get one person knocked down and then have a heart attack. Plus, he isn’t sure what Minato is like yet; he’s obviously involved in some sort of mafia. 

“I’m more partial to ramen. There’s nothing better than ramen.” 

_ There are so many things that are better than ramen.  _ Sasuke rolls his eyes, and Naruto laughs in response. 

Laughing is so unnatural to Sasuke’s ears. So many things are, he’s realising. 

The stairs are huge and carpeted with an intricate design. This place truly is a rich person’s manor—every corner is clean, tidy, and fancy. He could probably steal a table and be set for a year or two. 

Naruto leads him downstairs and through a few more open areas that seem to have sparse furniture, than finally to a set of huge oak doors. 

“Alright,” He crosses his hands and clicks his tongue. “Let’s see, there are...four survivors, one visitor who became a permanent resident, and then you, me, and my parents. No surprises. Their names are Gaara, Kiba, Hinata, Sakura, and Lee. They’re all very nice. Gaara is pretty quiet,” Naruto rambles on, almost faster than Sasuke can keep up. Forget “old him”; this kid annoys even traumatised him. “Like you.” Naruto adds on, and does this thing with his face where he looks so innocent and cu—

Sasuke nods, biting his tongue to keep grounded.  _ It’s one dinner. Then you can start figuring out where you can go from here.  _

“Don’t worry,” Naruto adds on as he reaches for the door. “If you end up not liking the food, or the company, or the loudness, you can get back upstairs. No one is judging you.” 

_ Everyone is always judging. Even if they don’t mean to. It’s human nature.  _

Sasuke just hums his agreement, and Naruto swings the doors open. 

“Hey! We’ve arrived!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everyonnne. so i originally planned to write really big chapters and fit it all into three parts; but i figured you guys would rather me post something than nothing at all. so, here is chapter two. this will be in five parts instead! i love you(yes you specifically!)

**Author's Note:**

> mmm. yup. yeah. 
> 
> tell me about it in the comments! leave some kudos, do whatever my dude. thanks for reading. 
> 
> follow me on my [tumblr!](https://jen-thine-hen.tumblr.com)


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